


Surest Wisdom, The

by Marguerite



Series: The Triumph of Principles [4]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Post Bartlett Administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-09
Updated: 2009-04-09
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marguerite/pseuds/Marguerite
Summary: 2009"It is courage the world needs, not infallibility...courage is always the surest wisdom."-Sir Wilfred Grenfell





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

Los Angeles  
September  
***

"I love you, Donna."

C.J. heard Donna's high laughter over the phone line. "It fits?"

"Oh, it fits. I can't believe you did this." C.J. stood in front of the hotel room mirror, admiring herself in the sparkling golden gown that made her look like a goddess. It clung in the right places, concealed the right things, and made her legs look like they went on forever.

And the label said Gary Tennenberg.

Yes, she was more than able to buy a gown from his outrageously priced boutique on Madison Avenue, but she'd longed for one that was made only for her. One that no other woman at tonight's show could possibly be wearing, yet one that would make their jaws drop.

Wouldn't hurt if Toby liked it, either.

"How does it look?"

"It looks...where was this guy when I was 25?" She sighed. "Things aren't where they were, if you know what I mean."

"He sent some things...to fix that. Look in the little bag. They go on like band-aids."

C.J. rummaged around in the plastic bag and found the adhesive pads. She put the phone between her ear and her shoulder and reached inside the dress, still talking to Donna. "I wasn't sure about the pink lining, but it really does take a few years off my face. Or maybe a few weeks. Whatever. It's great, and you're great, and...why am I going on and on like this?"

"Because you're about to walk the red carpet in front of the Shrine Auditorium and get an Emmy award," Donna said. The matter-of-fact tone didn't hide her excitement. She'd come up to New York the day after the nominations and had spent the next morning shopping with C.J. for press conference and party clothes, as happy as if she were the nominee. From Tavern on the Green she'd pulled out her cell phone and dialed Gary Tennenberg's workroom, and by three in the afternoon C.J. was being measured by the man himself. "I don't take a lot of clients, but I'm always willing to make an exception for La Bella Donna."

Such a long way from the waif who'd appeared on the Bartlet for America doorstep. "I wish you were here," C.J. said softly.

"Got butterflies in your stomach?"

"The butterflies have butterflies. I won't know what to say. What if I make a face when they announce someone else winning?"

"Won't happen. Where's Toby?"

"His plane was delayed, but he called me from the cab and said he should be here any minute. God, how do actors go through this every year?"

"Just relax, have a great time, and know that we'll all be crammed into Josh's apartment because he has the biggest TV. We'll be cheering for you."

"Thanks, Donna. Talk to you tomorrow?"

"We're expecting that. Love you!"

C.J. inspected herself again. Just a little sag of the jaw-line, but her cheekbones were as good as ever and her eyes were clear and bright. She heard the key card in the lock and stood up straight, sucking in an imaginary tummy and trying to look as if she weren't scared to death.

Toby didn't even put down his bag, just strode forward and kissed her. A little rough, a little needy. A little in awe. "My God. You are stunning."

"You like it?"

"Like what?"

She rolled her eyes. "My pantyhose, Toby." When he looked down, puzzled, she gave him a light tap on the head. "The dress. This dress."

"I didn't notice the dress," Toby whispered as he let go of his suitcase. "I got distracted by, you know, what the dress is concealing." He put his hands on her hips and drew her close so that her back was against his chest. One hand splayed across her abdomen and the other drew circles on her bare back.

"Is that an Emmy in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

He groaned into her neck. "We don't have time, do we?"

"Nope. You need to get into your tux and our limo's coming in about fifteen minutes, so time's of the essence."

"Later tonight," Toby assured her as he grabbed his bag and headed for the bathroom, "I'm taking that dress off with my teeth, C.J., I swear to God."

"I'm counting on that." Smiling, she put a few touch-up items in her extravagantly expensive gold purse and stood by the window, waiting for Toby.

She owed so much of this evening to her friends. Sure, her program had been a hit, but she knew perfectly well which interview had clinched her nomination. And without Sam's thoroughness, without Josh's wily ability to get people to open up about what they knew...this wouldn't have happened.

A coalition of Republicans and Democrats would never have formed. The rights of the poor, of minorities, of all sorts of disenfranchised people, would have been left alone for fear of political suicide instead of being embraced, as they were right now.

The world can move, or not...

Toby. She could never have done any of this without Toby. From the moment he watched her slosh out of her pool, a chlorinated baptism, he had shaped her, mentored her. Loved her.

And now he was standing at her side, dressed in his custom-made tux, reaching for her hand. He brought it to his lips. "Let's go," he whispered against her knuckles.

They rode to the auditorium in silence, holding hands, watching the palm trees and the cyclists. When the driver stopped, Toby helped C.J. out of the car and immediately the crowd started screaming and cameras clicked away. In spite of Toby's low profile, the couple managed to keep a pretty respectable buzz in the gossip community - to C.J.'s amusement and Toby's hand-wringing dismay.

She was interviewed - local media, someone from Entertainment Tonight, photographers from Vogue, People, and other glossy magazines she never had the inclination to read. And, inevitably, she found herself in front of Joan Rivers.

"She's still alive?" Toby whispered into her ear, and she jabbed him with her purse.

"Keep a low profile - maybe she won't see us."

"Of course she won't see us - she's had so many facelifts that her breasts are covering her eyes."

It was then that they were able to hear the woman's voice, the sickly, quavering, nasal alto. "Over there is Claudia Jean Cregg, the clotheshorse of NBC. Can we get a close on her dress, since I'm sure she won't deign to speak to me?" Rivers waited a moment before continuing. "Well, it's a nice dress, and she's got a decent body for a woman her age. But still - who does she think she's kidding?" With that, she turned away and began to paw some nubile sitcom actress.

C.J. stood stock still, not listening to the question she was being asked. Instead she watched in dumbfounded horror as Toby walked over to Rivers and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, Ms. Rivers."

"Hold on!"

"No, I don't think I will."

C.J., who by this time had covered her eyes with her hands, now opened her fingers so she could peek at the P.R. nightmare unfolding right in front of her.

"You've insulted the woman I love," Toby said. "That would be Ms. Cregg, standing over there and looking a hell of a lot better than you ever could have hoped."

This was going out live. People were watching this. Thousands of people. Millions. Watching Toby towering over the old bag and waving his finger in her face.

"For years you've had carte blanche to say whatever meaningless, catty things come into your wizened brain. But I say, right here, right now, no more! No. More."

"I have a right--"

"Yes, you have a right to be stupid. You even have a right to be rude. But I have a right - a responsibility - to call you on it. And since I know you don't have the breeding to apologize, I'm just going to face this camera, over here. Over here, don't worry, it's okay," he said, beckoning to the astonished video operator. "On Ms. Cregg's behalf, I'm donating an amount of money equal to the hand-made Tennenberg gown she's wearing to the charity of your choice, Ms. Rivers. What's it going to be?"

The woman just gaped at him.

"Tell you what. When you find a charity, have your people call my people. That would be President Josiah Bartlet and Dr. Abigail Bartlet. Don't hesitate to let them know where the money will be going."

With that, he stalked over to C.J. and put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the main entrance. "That was my entertainment for the evening. Now let's go pick out a statue for you."

***  
Washington, D.C.  
***

Speechless.

Josh froze with his hand in the popcorn bowl. Nina leaned forward as much as her increased size would allow, her hands in front of her mouth. Matt, who was sitting next to Donna, squeezed her arm so hard that she would have shrieked in protest had she been focused enough to know it was happening.

Sam sat still, blinking rapidly, his mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out.

Holy hell.

His cell phone rang. "Please, God, don't let it be the Post," he moaned as he flipped the phone open. "Sam Seaborn."

"Did you see that!" It was Abbey, shouting into the phone. "He told her off. On nationwide television!"

"Yes, he certainly did." He put the phone to his shoulder for a moment. "It's Abbey," he said to the others, who ordinarily would've shouted greetings but tonight just waved in the general direction of the phone.

"Jed's about to burst an artery. Is Toby going to be in some sort of trouble?"

"I don't think so. He didn't physically threaten her. I mean, the people at E! aren't going to love him, but they can't do anything about a comment made in a public place. Plus, it's not as if he hadn't been provoked."

"So he's not going to be, you know, arrested or anything."

"No. Although I suspect C.J. may hold him captive, later on."

Abbey breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, then, I'll let you go. Just wanted to make sure we weren't going to have to fly to California and bail him out of jail. Give everyone my love."

"I'll do that." He hung up the phone. "She sends her love."

Silence.

This was going to be an inspiring night.

***  
Los Angeles  
***

"And the Emmy for 'Variety or Interview' goes to..." Brokaw didn't even bother to suppress his smile. "C.J. Cregg, 'Practical Politics,' NBC."

Toby realized that C.J. was just sitting there, smiling politely and applauding. She'd been so nervous that she hadn't heard her name called.

"Who won?" she asked through her teeth.

"That would be...you."

She shifted in her chair as the applause swelled and the theme song from her show began a second time. Toby gave her a little push at the small of the back and she rose, looking dazed, and let the ushers help her up the stairs.

Brokaw handed her the statue and stepped back, applauding. Then the audience got to its feet and Toby couldn't see her again until he rose as well, watching with amazement as C.J. pulled herself up to her full height and motioned that she was ready to begin.

"Thank you - this is an unexpected honor. I really only came tonight to show off my dress. Do you like it?"

The crowd cheered.

***  
Washington, D.C.  
***

The crowd cheered.

Nina wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Damn hormones," she said, but then she saw tears in Donna's eyes as well, and Josh's, although he did his best to hide them. And Sam's, as he leaned over to kiss her.

"She's so beautiful," Josh murmured. "Look at her. How did we not know that until now?"

"The rest of us have always known." Donna blew her nose on the paper napkin that had been around her glass. "Figures that it'd take you longer."

***  
Manchester  
***

They held hands and watched, full of pride, as C.J. held the statue aloft. 

"That's our girl," Bartlet said to his wife, and for once she didn't bother to correct his choice of words, because she was too busy dabbing at her eyes.

***  
Los Angeles  
***

"I don't have a speech prepared. I came with a speechwriter, but unless he's doing something with magic marker on the back of the program, I'm on my own."

She'd never expected this, not even when newspapers across the country said that she was a sure thing. She'd kept her expectations low, and now she was in front of a camera with no idea what to say next.

Finding Toby in the crowd, she smiled at him. "Thank you, members of the Academy, and my peers in the broadcast news industry. I'm honored - and touched. And more than a little scared." Her hands trembled, so she set the statue down on the podium. "It has been an honor and a privilege to be a part of 'Practical Politics.' I'd be remiss if I didn't thank everyone involved in the production - but I'd be more remiss if I tried, because I'd just leave someone out and that would get me into hot water.

"Instead, I'd like to dedicate this to someone who saw potential in a freshly-unemployed P.R. person, who shepherded her through the trying process of becoming the face and voice of a campaign and a Presidency. Who believed." She stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Who believed," she said again.

"With love, and respect, and a gratitude that will last forever - this statue belongs to Leo McGarry, and I hope that, wherever he is, he knows how much I owe him. Thank you very much."

She didn't hear the roar of the crowd, but she was aware of Toby's proud gaze. Felt it backstage when he sidled up beside the crowd of photographers, Saw it as he looked at her with such longing that she wanted desperately to bolt, to run away with him and never, ever look back.

But soon there were other, more glamorous people to photograph, and C.J. was taken to a quiet room off to one side of the stage. She sat on the edge of a small, tapestried chair, the statue clutched in her shaking hands.

Toby entered and walked in front of her, then sat on his heels and covered her hands with his. "You were good," he said simply.

"I can think on my feet," she replied, blowing a lock of hair away from her face.

He kept looking at her, the love in his warm, dark eyes making the blood rush to her cheeks. "You can also think off your feet."

A slow, sexy smile worked its way across her face. She'd be missed at the parties, but that didn't matter. Didn't mean anything. All that mattered was Toby.

So she stood up, smoothing the beaded silk of her gown, and held her hand out to him. "I think we left the meter running," she whispered, and they laughed as they made their way through the glittering crowds.

***  
Washington, D.C.  
Georgetown Hospital  
December  
***

Josh shrugged out of his coat as he joined Matt and Donna in the waiting room. "I know I'm late to the party, but why are there protesters outside the hospital?"

"They're expressing displeasure at the manner in which Nina is giving birth." Donna sounded completely, utterly disdainful.

Josh was utterly confused. "There's more than one way? I mean, don't babies pretty much come, standard, from the same place?"

Matt shook his head and chuckled. "There are two factions outside - and they don't like each other very much, either. One group says that Nina, as the wife of an influential politician, should set an example for women everywhere and have her baby at home with a midwife. Another says that she's welcome to have the baby in a hospital, but only if she agrees to do so without pain medication."

"And that's not, you know, incredibly intrusive?" Josh raked his hand through his hair.

"That's pretty much what Nina told them as the nurses put her into the wheelchair. Only she was in the middle of a contraction and she maybe didn't put it quite so nicely." Donna smirked as she moved over to allow Josh enough room on the little couch.

They pretended to work at their laptops, looking up at the clock once in a while and getting nervous every time a doctor or nurse passed by.

Josh got up and started to pace. "Sit down, Josh," Matt and Donna said in chorus, and he took his place sheepishly.

"How long is this likely to take?" he asked, earning glares from the people on either side of him.

Donna somehow managed to roll her eyes without looking away from her laptop. "I'll feed you to the protesters if you don't cut that out. It takes as long as it takes. You'd think this was your baby, the way you're going on."

He'd thought Amy was pregnant. If she had been, it might have been his baby he was waiting for today.

Put those thoughts away, he told himself. This isn't about you. "Is Nina's father here?" he asked instead.

"He's on his way - he was in London on business, so he's probably going to get here too late for the birth, but in plenty of time for the christening." Matt stretched his long legs in front of him and yawned. "We told C.J. and Toby, of course, and Toby told the Bartlets."

"What about Sam's parents?"

Matt shrugged. "His mother wouldn't come unless we could assure her his father wouldn't come. And vice-versa, so it was a stalemate. We're supposed to call when we know something."

Josh looked over Matt's shoulder toward the door. Sam stood in the doorway, wearing the ugliest green scrubs Josh had ever seen.

And the most infatuated smile.

"It's a girl," he whispered.

Donna leapt to her feet and threw her arms around Sam, unmindful of the spatters of blood here and there. She kissed him on the cheek and tousled his hair. "Way to go! How's Nina?"

"She's groggy and tired, but she's fine. The baby weighs seven pounds even, and she's...she's so beautiful." Sam opened his arms and draped them around Josh and Matt. "They're weighing her and stuff, but I wanted to come in and tell you."

 

"When can we see her?" Donna asked.

"They said half an hour or so, as soon as they get Nina in a regular room. I've got to get back there," he added, gesturing vaguely. "Can someone call my parents?"

"I'm on it." Donna waved her cell phone. "I'll have to go outside, though. Someone tell me when we can see Nina and the baby."

"I'll come get you." Josh turned around and hugged Sam around the waist. "Congratulations, Sam."

"Thanks. Wait, you're gonna get...all over you." Sam backed up and pulled the ties at the back of his neck, then balled the scrubs up and looked around. A passing orderly took the bundle, grinning, and tossed it neatly into a hazardous waste container.

"Thank you," Matt called after him. "You go on and get Nina settled, and we'll just wait here until someone tells us it's okay."

"See you in a few minutes." Sam bolted down the hall.

Josh put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Something tells me he's not going to have the candidacy on his mind for a while."

"We'll fill in," Matt declared. "Do you think Donna's going to tell the press, or should someone from Sam's office take care of that?"

"Good question." Josh scowled at nothing in particular. "See, this is why we've got to get more organized in the next month or so. We need faces and voices so you and I can concentrate on platform."

"I agree. But let's not get into that right now." Matt waved at Donna, who was coming back into the waiting area. "Did you call--?"

"C.J., Toby, and a separate call to the Bartlets. Sam's parents, Ginger - who's getting someone from the Press Office to make a statement..."

Josh smiled. That was the Donna he knew. Efficient and quick. No wonder Matt was doing so well.

"...and the personnel director at the A.S.O."

By the time she had finished telling them, over and over, what she'd said to each of the people she'd talked to, a nurse came by and ushered them to a room further down the hall. Matt went in first, with his hand on Donna's elbow, and Josh followed behind.

Nina was propped up in a nest of pillows, her damp hair tied back from her face with a white band. She looked up at her visitors and smiled. "Hey, look what I did," she said, pointing to the pink bundle in her arms.

"I like to think I had a hand in this," Sam protested.

"You had more than a hand in it," was Nina's comeback.

"Glad to know you've kept your sense of humor." Matt leaned over and kissed her, then looked approvingly at the baby. "Very nice. Hey, Donna, think Gary would do a christening gown?"

"Possibly, once he sees how gorgeous she is!" Donna exclaimed as she took a peek over Matt's shoulder. "Josh, have you ever seen such a beautiful baby?"

Josh, who was of the opinion that all babies looked pretty much alike, went through the motions. "She's got, you know, hair and stuff."

"And fingers, and toes, and fingernails, and everything." Nina traced the baby's mouth with one finger. "We're naming her Helen. That was my mother's name." Tears filled Nina's eyes and slipped down her cheeks. "I wish she could be here to see this..."

"You're worn out. We'll come back tomorrow, okay?" Donna, whose eyes were shining with sympathetic tears, embraced Nina and motioned for the men to come with her.

"I'm sorry - I'll be better tomorrow. And Sam, will you tell them?"

"Right." Sam nodded, still looking dazed, and stepped into the hall with his friends.

"Tell us what?" Josh asked, dipping his chin as he examined Sam's face for any sign of trouble.

Sam cleared his throat. "We're going to have the christening on Thursday, if Nina's up to it. Just for family, at St. Stephen's."

"I can help Ginger with the arrangements," Donna volunteered, but Sam cut her off with a smile and a shake of his head.

"I need you to do another job for me. I'd like you to be Helen's godmother."

That started the waterworks for real. Donna hiccupped as she threw her arms around Sam and whispered that she'd be honored.

Patting Donna's back, Sam said that Helen would need a godfather as well. "Matt? Would you be willing?"

Matt glanced from Sam to Josh, then back to Sam. "With pleasure," he said, but his voice sounded questioning.

Abstracted as Sam was, he picked up on the hint. "Josh, you know that there's no one in the world I--"

"I understand, Sam. It's okay." He smiled even though he was more than a little hurt. "Really."

"No, it's not," Sam sighed. "But the religion thing. You wouldn't be comfortable raising a Gentile child, Josh. Besides, Toby would kick your ass if you tried it."

"More than likely. Don't worry, Sam. I got to be your best man. I can settle for second-best man. And you know I won't love Helen any less, right?"

"I know that. Thanks for understanding." Sam inclined his head toward Nina's room. "I don't want to leave her by herself - will you visit in the morning?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Matt put his arm around Donna's shoulder and turned her in the direction of the elevator. Josh followed behind and got into the elevator with them.

"You handled that really well," Donna said after a few quiet moments, and to Josh's surprise she reached for his hand and threaded her fingers through his. "I'm very proud of you."

"Thank you," he said quietly, and for the first time in two years the veil of awkwardness between them began to lift.

At least until he saw Matt looking at him with a combination of skepticism and alarm.

***  
St. Stephen's Church  
***

Helen reacted with remarkable aplomb as she was christened, squirming just a little in Donna's arms while the priest blessed her. Matt, who held Helen's tiny hand, grinned broadly when the baby's eyes focused on him. They returned Helen to her parents at the reception and turned around as Bartlet lifted a glass of champagne.

"We're here to celebrate new life, of course, but there's more than one meaning to that. I'd like to start by recognizing a few new things and the people who brought them about. New life's right here among us, and new beginnings, and even a new direction for our beloved nation. To Josh, Toby, and the bottle of Glenlivet that Donna sent for Toby's birthday, the bottle of Glenlivet that Nina sent for Toby's birthday, and the fact that C.J. was in San Francisco on Toby's birthday, thereby leaving an opportunity for the consumption of Glenlivet and the making of history." He paused while everyone laughed. "It didn't hurt that Sam was a little preoccupied that night, either.

"But I digress. We're here to launch Helen into the world, the face that launched a thousand ships, and the little hand that's pulling on her daddy's tie in such an enchanting fashion." He took the white-clad bundle from her father and held her in his own arms. "What a life you'll have, my beautiful little angel, with your mommy's curls and your daddy's big blue eyes. You'll have their music and words, all the best of art and philosophy, all at your tiny fingertips. Although your daddy may be so busy ridding the house of gentlemen callers that you might not see as much of him as you'd like. But his protective love will be there with you, and his conscience, and your mother's intelligence and unwavering devotion. You'll have Donna and Matt as spiritual guides, and no finer examples are there in the world. With witty, clever Aunt C.J. at your side, you'll never be at a loss for words. Even less so around your Uncle Toby. Although he may teach you some words your parents would just as soon you didn't use."

Toby glowered, but he didn't fool anyone.

"God only knows what Uncle Josh has in store for you. Possibly a city council job instead of a lemonade stand. And don't forget about Abbey and me, the extra set of grandparents who aren't afraid of diapers, fifth grade math homework, first love, or those little rubber bands they put on braces." Jed leaned over and kissed Helen's rosy cheek.

"Welcome to the world, Helen Miranda Seaborn. Welcome to your family - and this family, your extended one - and may you grow up in a house full of love, gentleness, and peace."

As he brought the baby back to Nina, Bartlet paused with his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I just hope that house is the big white one."


	2. Chapter 2

***  
March  
***

"The ayes have it."

Yes, the ayes had it - the bill mandating the largest increase in the minimum wage ever seen, softened by tax incentives for small companies so they could afford to comply. Whether the President would sign it was another matter, but the buzz on the Hill was that Schiller would have no choice, given the hunger for reform that was sweeping the nation. Negotiations would have been nightmarish without Matt's consummate, masterful skill.

Sam watched with pride as even the Senators who had voted against the bill shook hands with Matt and congratulated him on a job well done. Some of those same Senators had cried out in anger when Matt switched parties. There were others, in the end, who found themselves doing the same thing.

Sure, it was easier to get things through the Senate now that the balance was 54-46. But Matt knew what was happening on both sides of the aisle, and it was his boundless knowledge that was getting the job done.

It was at that moment, in the Senate chamber, while engaged in the mundane act of putting his pen in his pocket, that Sam realized that his staff and friends had been working themselves to death for no reason whatsoever.

Sam's eyes lit up and he bolted from the magnificent room, scarcely looking at Matt, or anyone else, for that matter. He'd had his very own personal, private epiphany and he couldn't wait to share it.

"Where's Josh?" he asked of the newest temporary assistant. Josh had given up trying to remember their names. None of them stuck around long enough to make that necessary.

"Who's Josh?" And now, they weren't learning Josh's name, either.

"That would be Mr. Lyman," Sam explained as patiently as he could.

"Oh. Well, Mr. Lyman's on the phone in his office. May I give him your name?"

Sam blinked at the young woman, who clearly had no idea who he was. Trying to conceal his amusement, Sam cleared his throat. "Tell him that Sam Seaborn's here."

"And you're with...?"

Holy God, whoever was in charge of personnel must be sending these people as a joke. "The United States Senate."

The woman nodded, writing it down on a note pad and spelling it with an "e" on the end. "May I ask what it's about?"

"I'm sorry - perhaps I didn't make myself clear. I'm Senator Sam Seaborn, with, uh, only one 'e,' and Mr. Lyman is my Chief of Staff." That didn't seem to get a response. "I'm his boss."

"So, I should get him, then?"

"That'd be good. Yes. Please."

At long last, the woman punched a button on the intercom. "There's a Senator Sam Seaborn to see you," she said.

Josh appeared, flinging his door open and waving Sam into the office. "Hey, I watched the vote - you guys kicked some serious ass."

"Thanks." Sam waited until the door was shut again before pointing at the anteroom. "Who, or what, is she?"

"My temp for the day. I'm not bothering to learn their names, either," Josh snorted.

"Good, because this one didn't even know who I was."

Josh rolled his eyes. "Wow. Man, we have got to start this campaign off for real."

Sam considered that for a moment. "Well, don't do it on her account. I mean, who doesn't know the name of the guy she works for?"

"I am going to find out who's been sending me these idiots, and I will make them pay." Josh took a seat and moved some paperwork aside so he could lean on the desk. "C.J. called. She's doing a segment tonight, and she wants a prominent Democratic Senator to do a remote interview. You up for it?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm not."

Josh's face froze in an expression of terror. "Sam. Listen, you're not getting cold feet again, are you? Because if you are, then--"

"No, it's not that. I'm not getting cold feet. I've just had this...Josh, I know you and Donna and Matt have gone over and over a short list for a potential running mate, but you're all chasing your tails."

"You can say that again." He leaned his cheek on his hand and looked at Sam. "So what's your idea?"

Sam leaned back in the chair and prepared for fireworks. "I think it should be Matt Skinner."

If Josh were a cartoon, then Sam would have been able to see wheels spinning and smoke coming out of his nostrils.

"Just let me be clear about this - you mean Matt Skinner." Josh waved in a direction that might or might not have been Matt's office. "Our Matt Skinner."

"You know another Matt Skinner? Of course, that Matt Skinner."

"Oh, come on!"

"Josh, listen to me! You've been saying for months that I need to be more proactive, that I can't let the D.N.C. take over if this gets to be big. Well, I'm doing it. Look at the debate we've had for the last three days - and the meetings before that. Who got the job done?"

Sam knew Josh was defeated because he now had his face completely buried in his hands. "Thing is," Josh sighed, "I know you're right. But I also know that Matt's going to turn you down, and that'll get you depressed and...and...cantankerous. And you'll throw out all the names we've gotten, and you'll go back to Matt again and again, and this will never, ever end."

"We won't know until we ask him." Sam got up and put his hands into his pockets. "C'mon, Josh. Let's take a walk."

"Matt, huh?" Josh tested the idea. "Vice-President Skinner. Kinda grows on you."

"Let's go," Sam insisted, holding the door as Josh scrabbled around on his desk for his tie. As they passed the assistant's desk, Sam told her "We're going down the hall to see Matt Skinner. He's a United States Senator, too."

The woman nodded slowly, still without comprehension.

"By 'we,'" Josh said, his eyes twinkling, "we mean Senator Sam Seaborn of California, this man here, and myself, Joshua Lyman, the Senator's Chief of Staff and your boss until five p.m., which will give you plenty of time to freshen up for the Justin Timberlake concert on the mall. It's been a pleasure."

They breezed down the corridors, stealing amused glances at one another as they rode the elevator to the floor for Matt's office. Sam, who had been burning with curiosity for a few weeks now, finally spoke. "So how are things with you and Donna?"

Bulls-eye. Josh actually looked annoyed. "We've gone out for exactly one dinner - working, with actual papers and laptops and pagers and everything - and a few lunches. Also working."

"Ah." Sam bounced up and down on his heels as he waited for the elevator door to open. "Need any help?"

"Sam!" Josh almost fell over as he rounded the corner.

"I'm just saying, Josh, that you managed to screw things up pretty badly the first time, and that maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea if--"

"Sam, you are the only man I know who accidentally slept with a prostitute. You then told your boss' daughter, on whom you ended up having a considerable crush, that you'd done it. We're not going to bring up the blonde, leggy Republican lawyer who kicked your ass on television, but I will conclude my refusal of your kind offer by reminding you that you met your wife by spilling booze on her head."

They stopped walking.

"You make some excellent points," Sam admitted.

"Yes, I do."

"Seriously, though - are things getting back to normal?"

"Since when have Donna and I ever been normal?" Josh grinned. "It's fine. It's a working friendship, Sam, and I'd missed that more than I could ever tell you."

Sam leaned slightly backwards. "But if it turns into something else, you'll let me know, right?"

"Yeah, buddy, you'll be my first call. 'Cause I'll need a bodyguard right about the time that Matt finds out." Josh clapped Sam on the shoulder as they walked into Matt's outer office.

"Matt finds out what?" asked the Senator, who was leaning over his assistant's desk, looking at his weekly schedule.

"Nothing," Josh and Sam said together. Then, also together, they said, "You got a minute?"

Matt chuckled. "You guys practice that routine?"

"No," they chorused in identically aggravated tones.

"Okay." Matt ushered them into his office. "Josh, I know you must've been watching the vote. What do you think?"

"I think it's about damn time, and I think it's going to be something Schiller absolutely, positively has to sign." He looked over at Sam. "But that's not why we're here. Sam has something - we have something...well..."

"Maybe we'd better sit down, guys," Matt said softly. Josh and Sam took the visitor's chairs opposite his desk. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. In fact, I think you'll regard what I'm about to say as good news," Sam said. He hoped he wasn't sounding like an idiot. He took a deep breath. "We're scratching the search for a V.P. candidate."

"Oh, no, you're not getting cold feet again, are you?" Matt asked.

"Why does everyone think that?"

"Because, Sam, sometimes you get this trapped look, and I just know the next words out of your mouth will be 'I quit.'"

Sam sighed. "I'm not quitting. I may get...spooked, now and again, but I'm not quitting. And you're going to make sure of that."

"Me?" Matt cocked his head to one side, smiling. "What're you talking about?"

"I've found my running mate, Matt. It's you."

Silence.

Matt's smile evaporated. "You're kidding, Sam."

"No, I'm not."

"Sam, you're kidding."

"I'm really not."

Josh stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle. "He is not kidding in his chair, he is not kidding anywhere." When no one laughed, Josh looked up at the ceiling and bit his lip.

"He's right, though," Sam said firmly. "I'm not kidding. I've thought this through, and you're the only person who could possibly do the job. You have an outstanding political mind. You've seen the inner workings of the government from both sides of the aisle - plus, all the things you know so much about aren't exactly my specialties. We'd actually be a team, not just a leader and a ceremonial figurehead, but a different kind of President and Vice-President. Working together. Think about what the sum of our parts could be!"

"We'd never get there," Matt whispered. "It's a beautiful idea, Sam, it's Camelot, it's perfect, but you know as well as I do why I have to say no."

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't. Care to enlighten me?" Sam looked at Matt, then at Josh. "Oh, you cannot be serious."

"You don't think it'd be a liability?" Matt asked, sounding incredulous. "Can you honestly sit there and say that it might not cost you the election to have an openly gay running mate?"

"Yes. Yes, I can." Sam at up straight. "Have you seen opinion polls since the C.A.P. thing went down? The ones where something like 72 percent of those polled admire you for not stepping aside and letting those guys oust you?"

"They're gay, Sam."

"Not all of them. You've got incredible support from the mainstream population - more than you realize. You helped countless Americans consider the difference between what should be law and what should be personal."

"I'm flattered. More than flattered, I'm...moved. But..." Matt's strong fingers played his desktop as if it were a keyboard, a habit he fell into when he was thinking, or nervous, and Sam imagined he would be both right now.

"But?" Josh prompted.

"There's nothing I want more than to see you get elected President, Sam. Nothing. And I don't want to be the reason that doesn't happen." He paused. "And it's not just my decision."

Taking his cue from Donna, Matt had kept his own personal life under wraps, living quietly for the past year in a Georgetown duplex with Gary Tennenberg whenever Gary didn't have to be in New York.

"I understand that," Sam said softly. "I went through this with Nina. There were a lot of conversations. Some of them while she was eating soda crackers and saying she never wanted me to touch her again, I'll grant you, but still. We did have to talk about it."

"It won't be quite the same for us," Matt replied, his dark eyes fixed intently upon Sam.

"I understand, that, too." Sam got up and motioned for Josh to follow. "Talk to Gary. Think about it for a while. But not for too long."

Matt rose, his expression still registering a combination of shock and gratitude, and said, "I'll have an answer for you in the next day or so."

"Good," Sam declared, his confidence rising as he and Josh headed for the door. He turned around and shook Matt's hand, clasping it firmly. "You'd be a voice, Matt - and God knows that enough people have been waiting all their lives for that voice."

"I know," Matt said, still sounding awestruck. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Thanks." Sam waited until Josh had also shaken Matt's hand, then turned and headed back toward the elevator.

It had been a good day, so far, and there didn't seem to be any reason to stop spreading the goodness around. "Damn," he said, his finger hovering over the call button. "Someone should stop Donna from working on those files anymore want to bet that Matt doesn't tell her until he's told Gary?"

A slow, warm smile spread across Josh's face, and his eyes brightened. "I'm on it," he said, taking off for Donna's office without another word.

Sam didn't bother to repress his smirk as he got into the elevator, congratulating himself on yet another job well done.

***

"Hello, it's good to see you, Josh," said Mai, Donna's sleekly efficient assistant. "She's talking to Hugh in his office, but it's nothing important. Go on in, and I'll tell her you're here."

Josh looked around the office, noticing that an old photo of Donna and him from the second campaign was on the wall beneath a picture of Donna and Matt at a D.N.C. fundraiser. "Has this always been here?" Josh asked, pointing at his picture as Donna walked over to him.

"Zoey sent that to me a few weeks ago. She was going through some stuff and came across that picture."

"And she sent it to you, not me?"

"Josh, Zoey and I e-mail each other about three times a week. You never talk to her unless she happens to be in New Hampshire while you're planning strategy with Toby."

"Ah. No one to blame but myself, then."

"Exactly." Donna looked at her watch. "I've got a meeting in about an hour, so if you need me to start going through the Adams and Fry files, then--"

"No, no, not that." Josh sat on the edge of her desk. "In fact, you can ditch the Adams and Fry files. Along with the rest of them."

Donna's eyes widened and she shook her head. "Don't tell me Sam's getting cold feet again!"

"No, although that's the conclusion everyone's coming to today," Josh said, grinning. "It's good. Great, in fact. I think you're gonna love it."

"What?"

"Sam's picked his running mate."

"Wonderful!" Donna stopped and held her hand in front of her. "Wait, wait - it's not you, is it?"

"Donna!"

"I'm just saying...anyway. Who?"

Josh smiled at her. "Matt."

Two beats of silence. "My Matt?" Donna asked, her hand coming to rest over her heart.

"None other. What do you think?"

"What do I think? I think he'd be brilliant. He's a perfect compliment for Sam, he's got experience with legislation on both sides of the aisle, and he'd bring in who knows how many disenfranchised voters because they'd finally have someone they could admire. Josh, this is wonderful!" She astonished Josh by flinging her arms around his neck and hugging him.

He let his hands roam across her back, down to her slim waist, and buried his face in her hair. "It is wonderful," he whispered, meaning something else entirely.

Donna's body stiffened and she pulled away, not unkindly, her fingers brushing against his chest. "Josh."

"I know. Heat of the moment." He shook his head. "No, not heat of the moment I've waited for this, waited for you to give me a sign, and...well, was that a sign? I can't tell."

"I don't know. I don't think so." But her head was lowered, her hair spilling in front of her face so that Josh couldn't read her expression.

"I know you said you didn't want to rush back to where we were, back in the White House. I understand that, I really do, and I've tried to be patient, but Donna, I'm--"

"Josh, please, no." She turned away from him, facing her bookcase, breathing shallowly.

He felt a lump growing in his throat. Slowly he walked up behind Donna, his hands just above her shoulders but not touching them. "I was, from the first day we met, completely crazy about you. I was also, you know, clueless." He waited for her to make a joke, but the room was silent except for their breathing. "I was wrapped up in the politics and the show I needed to put on, and since I've always sucked at compartmentalizing, I managed to convince myself that you didn't feel the same way and that I needed to get past that."

Not that it had ever really worked.

"You married Amy," Donna said softly. "I mean, we both dated, we were both, I don't know, sublimating or something. But you married her, Josh. You loved her enough to do that. Even if it was sort of an accident."

"I have a big heart," Josh said. "Not as big as my ego, but big enough. And Amy's a good person. You know that about her, right?"

"I like her better than I did."

Donna's statement was sufficiently ambiguous to make Josh wince. "It wasn't until you left that I realized I'd been deceiving myself," he said, finally bringing his hands to rest on her shoulders, letting the fine ends of her hair tickle his fingers. "I made a mistake, Donna - a mistake that caused pain for one of the women I admire most in the world."

"You honored your vows," Donna said. She reached up and patted his hand. "I never wanted to be in the way of that. And it hurt too much, being around you. It reminded me of what we had, before, and I knew I could never have that again." She paused, turning her head slightly, and Josh could see the beginnings of a smile. "Thank God Amy's a lesbian."

"She's bisexual," Josh corrected. "And, you know, ouch." Donna leaned against him, bringing his arms around her so that her back was to his chest and her face was almost touching his. He whispered into her ear. "I'm crazy about you all over again, you know that, right?"

"I know that." She wriggled out of his embrace and brushed imaginary lint off her blouse. "And it's not that I don't understand - and share - the feeling. But I need more time, Josh. I'm not saying this to be coy or anything, but I really do need..."

"...some more time," he finished, nodding abruptly, feeling like a kicked puppy.

"I know that's not the answer you want, Josh, or even the answer I'd like to be able to give." She straightened his tie, a gesture she'd done a thousand times all those years ago, a gesture that made them both smile. "But, in the meantime, if you need a best friend who's not busy running for President, then I'm your guy."

"My...guy?" Josh inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I know, I know, get the hell out of your office."

"That much, you've gotten right." She grinned at him. "I'm really happy about Matt. Has he talked to Gary, yet?"

"They're going to discuss it tonight," Josh replied as he went into the outer office and shut the door behind himself. Mai was watching him from the corner of her eyes, so Josh leaned against the door and spoke softly. "Sam's getting his answer tomorrow. Just thought you might like to know that."

He heard a thump at that point, which was probably Donna banging her head against her


	3. Surest Wisdom, The

***  
August  
New York City  
***

"That's some headline," C.J. said as she pushed the newspaper toward Andrew. "Obviously a slow news day over at the Times."

Andrew looked from C.J.'s face to the paper. "'Practical Politics or Personal Preference?' Perspicacious, positively." 

Groaning, C.J. poked holes in her empty Styrofoam coffee cup with the red plastic stirrer. "Seriously. You think this is going to be a thing?"

"I doubt it." He turned the headline face down. "Look, there's not much going on in the world this week, and you've got a face that sells papers. You're friends with the hot Presidential hopeful - whose face doesn't exactly turn readers' stomachs, either - and it's a story."

"You know that, and I know that. Do you think the suits will be able to figure it out?"

"Maybe if we did it in a pie chart." Andrew peered at C.J. over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Joke. You're supposed to laugh, boss."

She tried to oblige, but the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn't let her. The New York Times - she made a mental note to cancel her home subscription and only read it in the office - had all but accused her of being unable to keep her partiality for Sam's causes under wraps.

"I never said anything on the air that could be construed as biased," she said.

"And you'll notice that I never said you did." Andrew maintained his cool, which was what made him such an outstanding director. "You might want to re-think appearing in public for him, though."

"Why the hell should I? Since when did I lose my rights?"

"You didn't lose--"

"I did! You're telling me I can't campaign for the candidate of my choice!"

"C.J." Andrew took the stirrer out of her hands and threw it into the trash can before C.J. could do any more damage. "Give the D.N.C. money. Get Toby to write copy for Sam. But please, for the love of everything holy, do not make public appearances supporting him. It gives the impression that you're biased."

"I am biased, and I'm allowed to be biased as long as I don't try to present the bias as fact. Although Sam is the best possible candidate for the job, and that is a fact." C.J. scowled, looking around the table for something to demolish. Andrew handed her a paper napkin, and she started shredding it into long, jagged strips.

"I'm just saying that you might want to lighten up a little on the glowing praise in your personal segments. And maybe find something good to say about Seth Gillette."

"Not in a million years. The man was a thorn in our sides for, you know, ever. He's a pompous jackass with no moral center and the social graces of a deranged hyena."

"Okay. I give up." Andrew flung his hands in the air. "Now, how about we discuss the guest list for the Labor Day show?"

"Kill me now," C.J. moaned. "Why did we agree to do that, anyway? I was going to New Hampshire for the long weekend."

"Get Toby to come here."

"Yes, because Manhattan in September is such a pleasant place to be." The weather was always wretched at that time of year, oppressive on a level that left C.J. feeling flattened by the time she walked from the cab to the front door. "I know, I know, we're trying to bring the holiday back to its roots, and we're going to talk to people who actually do the jobs that C.E.O.'s get paid for. I just wish--"

The door to Andrew's office flew open and one of the interns came in, flushed and breathless. "Ms. Cregg, we're getting reports about a helicopter leaving the Bartlet place in New Hampshire."

"That's not unheard of - there are people who don't like the drive from the airport--"

"Ms. Cregg, it was a Care Flight. One of the neighbors saw it, and 911 records confirm. And I know you're friends with the family, so I wanted to make sure you knew right away."

She didn't even thank the boy, just leapt to her feet and started running toward her office. "Someone get me whatever you can find on a Care Flight helicopter leaving the Bartlet farm." As various assistants dashed off to do her bidding, C.J. pulled out her cell phone and dialed Toby's number. The answering message was curt: "You found me, but I don't want to talk to you right now. Leave a message."

No help. And there was surely no point in calling the house.

Damn, damn, damn.

Next in line would be Sam, who was probably in a committee meeting and wouldn't have any more information than she had, herself. Plus, he'd get worried - scratch that, he'd get frantic - and that was a visual C.J. could do without seeing on the nightly news.

Josh? Please. Who went to Josh in an emergency? No, you'd go to Donna.

Donna was number three on the speed dial, just behind Toby and C.J.'s oldest brother. "Hello, Mai, this is C.J. Cregg. Is Donna available? It's urgent."

"Yes, Ms. Cregg, she'll be with you in a moment."

C.J. paced the room, picking up books and ornaments and not looking at them as she tossed them into a strange pile on her desk. "Donna!" she cried when there was an answer on the other end. "A Care Flight helicopter took off from the Bartlets' a while ago. I don't know what's wrong."

"Toby didn't answer his cell?"

"No, I got the machine. Listen, can you poke around for me? Maybe find out something I can't?"

She had a vague idea of how ridiculous that sounded, given that she was one of the most influential people in a vast media organization.

"Wait, hold on - I have a number for one of the neighbors. I'll call, then I'll call you right back."

Not so ridiculous. Donnatella Moss, fastest contact person in the West, able to leap tall Rolodexes in a single bound.

"Thanks - God, I hope the President's okay."

Relapsing-remitting could turn into Secondary-progressive...

"Me, too." Donna's voice was small. "You're on your cell, right? I'll be right back."

Another intern knocked on C.J.'s door. "I got this from a wire - the helicopter was bound for Boston, but there's bad weather so they're coming here."

"Which hospital?" C.J. gasped.

"I'm waiting for them to tell the pilot. But I'll be right back."

"Thanks, Cindy."

"Mindy. And you're welcome."

Donna kept her word, and the phone rang again. "C.J., I'm on a conference call with Stephen Pierce - he lives not too far from the Bartlets and he's willing to talk to you."

"You're wonderful. Hello, Mr. Pierce? I'm C.J. Cregg. You're very kind to talk to me this morning."

"Not at all, glad to help." He had the laconic, flat-voweled voice C.J. usually found amusing. "I was driving home from the store when I heard the copter overhead. About frightened me out of my wits. I pulled over when the police and ambulance guys came by, and I saw them bring him out of the house."

C.J.'s heart began to pound and her palms were sweating. "Was he walking, or did they have him on a stretcher?"

"Oh, he was on a stretcher."

"The President was on a stretcher," C.J. repeated, writing as well as she could with her clammy hand.

"Oh, no, ma'am. Not the President."

C.J. heard Donna gasp on her end of the line.

"Who was it?" C.J. asked, but she already knew.

"It was that fella who lives with them, the guy with the beard."

She didn't remember much of what happened in the next twenty seconds. Something about Donna thanking Mr. Pierce and hanging up on him, then telling C.J. repeatedly that everything was going to be all right.

C.J. half-stumbled out of her office. "Get Andrew," she said. She caught a glimpse of herself in the window. Her face was deathly white. "Tell him it's Toby."

"Oh, C.J.," murmured one of the secretaries as she got up and went to deliver the message.

It's Toby. It's Toby. He's in the air somewhere over this city and I don't know where he is, or if he's alive...

"NYU Medical Center!" shouted Mindy. "They say the e.t.a. is ten minutes."

"Can I get there in ten minutes?" C.J. asked. "Can someone get their trauma center on the phone?"

"Working on it," Mindy said, holding the phone to her head with one hand and covering the other ear.

"Should I call a cab?" asked one of the secretaries, but Andrew burst in before C.J. could answer.

He grabbed her and hugged her, then stood with his hands on her upper arms. "I'm so sorry. What's the news?"

"I don't know. Lindy, over there, is trying to get someone from the N.Y.U. trauma center on the phone. We don't know anything. I don't know anything."

Andrew squeezed her arms gently. "I think...Mindy," he said, exaggerating the name slightly, "will have someone shortly. Then, when you have more information, you and I are taking a cab ride together."

"I'm fine," C.J. said weakly, but then her knees buckled and she leaned against Andrew for support. "Oh, my God, what's taking so long? Wouldn't they at least let me know if he's alive?"

"You don't know what happened. He could've fallen down and broken an arm or something."

"They don't Care Flight for a broken arm - Manchester's not that backward!"

Mindy handed her phone to C.J. "It's a nurse. Her name's Shalini."

"Thanks. Excuse me, this is C.J. Cregg. I understand you have a patient coming in via Care Flight - his name is Toby Ziegler, white male, 51 years old. Can you tell me why he's coming in?"

"I'm so sorry," said the nurse. "We're not allowed to divulge that information to the media."

"I'm not media!"

"You are to me - I watch your show on my nights off."

Damn. Damn. Damn.

"I appreciate the situation, but it's not the way it looks. I worked with Mr. Ziegler for many years, and we were friends for years before that. So any information..."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, there's a stretcher coming in - I can't talk now. Please excuse me."

The phone went dead.

"This is not happening to me," C.J. groaned. Mindy took the phone back and began asking the hospital for various administrative offices.

"Dr. Stephens, you're the director of Trauma? Please hold for C.J. Cregg."

C.J. snatched the phone. "Dr. Stephens? Please, can you tell me about Toby Ziegler? He's either en route or already at your facility."

"I can confirm that Mr. Ziegler is in the hospital. But I can't tell you any more unless you're family."

"Oh, God, please, not that again!" She had difficulty catching her breath, and hot tears were rolling down her face. "I'm not calling to put this on the news! I know Toby, and I love him, and please, please can you at least tell me if he's alive?"

There was silence for a moment.

"Dr. Stephens? Hello? Hello?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Cregg..."

Oh, God, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead...

"...I had to check the board. Mr. Ziegler is alive - but that's really all I can tell you. Even that's going a bit too far. I hope you understand."

C.J. collapsed against the wall, sliding down until she could fold her arms over her knees, then she began to weep aloud. Alarmed, Andrew knelt beside her. "C.J.? What is it?"

"He's alive," C.J. sobbed, "but that's all they can tell me."

"It's a good start, honey, it's a good start." He sat cross-legged on the floor opposite her. "I've got Tom sitting in for you tonight, and someone's calling a cab right now. Don't worry about anything but Toby, you understand?"

"Of course I'm not worrying about anything but Toby! God, don't you get it?" She lifted her tear-streaked face. Wet mascara stung her eyes as much as the tears did. "He's the only thing that matters - he's the only one I love..."

"Ssh, ssh, honey, it's all right, it's all right." Andrew put his arms around her and rocked her back and forth. "What's taking that damn cab so long?" he snapped.

"There's a police cordon or something," Mindy informed him, covering the receiver of the phone with one hand. "They're calling up from downstairs...no, wait, it's Secret Service."

"Secure the area!" came a booming voice, and everyone was removed from the office but Andrew and C.J. "Clear!"

Through a haze of fear and terror, C.J. saw the familiar figure of Abbey Bartlet.

Andrew nearly dropped C.J. to the ground in his haste to stand up, but C.J. was too shaken to move. Abbey held out her hands for C.J. to grasp. "It's okay, C.J. I wouldn't be here if I thought it wasn't safe to leave him." She turned to Andrew. "I'm Abigail Bartlet," she said, although the introduction was unnecessary. "You are?"

"Andrew Wang. I direct 'Practical Politics.'"

"Andrew, would you help me get C.J. off the floor? There's a car waiting for us downstairs, and I don't think it'd look too good if you had to carry her."

"No, ma'am." Andrew put his hands on C.J.'s shoulders, guiding her to her feet. "There you go. Should I come with you?"

"That's very kind, but it won't be necessary. I'll have someone call you from the hospital. And thank you for your help."

"You're welcome. C.J., you hang in there, okay?"

She nodded at him as Abbey linked arms with her. "They wouldn't tell me anything except that he's still alive."

"It looks as if he had a mild heart attack."

"Abbey!"

"Ssh, ssh. Mild. He's conscious, and he's plenty pissed off. Mostly because he threw up in the helicopter. Does that sound like someone who's at death's door?"

C.J. had to admit that it did not. She recognized the two agents who accompanied them to the car, but she was too busy trying to keep from crying to say anything to them. Abbey held her hand for the interminable cab ride. "They gave him nitroglycerin, and now they're running some tests."

"Where's the President?"

"President Schiller is in Washington. Jed's with Toby." Abbey bumped C.J.'s shoulder, trying to get her to smile. "He refused to leave Toby's side. I think he's remembering Leo."

Fresh tears, and Abbey's handkerchief, and the dark-suited arms of the agents opening the car doors. That was all C.J. understood, just little things, not big pictures, nothing concrete. "I want to see him," she whispered as they took their seats in the waiting room. She put her head on Abbey's shoulder as if she were one of the Bartlet daughters or granddaughters, and Abbey stroked her hair as if she were, as well.

"How long will it be before Ms. Cregg can see Mr. Ziegler?" Abbey asked one of the nurses.

"I'm sorry - are you family? Because, otherwise, I can't let you in. We just now had to ask Mr...President...Bartlet to leave, as well."

That set C.J. off into another spasm of sobs. She heard Bartlet's angry voice getting closer and closer. "I've tried and tried to explain to you people, but you simply do not get it! I don't get thrown out of hospital rooms, ever!" He stalked over to the two women and kissed each of them on the cheek. "Abbey, can you explain to these yahoos that, as the former leader of the free world, I'm not supposed to be subject to some ridiculous hospital policy? Claudia Jean, please don't cry, because if you keep crying, then I'll start, and then I'll look and feel like a complete idiot."

"Okay, Jed, stop talking now, please." Abbey rose and shook hands with the nurse. "Hello, and I'm sorry my husband is being such a jackass."

The nurse blinked in surprise.

"What he means to say," Abbey continued smoothly, "is thank you for letting him stay with Mr. Ziegler while we went and got his wife, and now she'll be taking his place."

C.J. couldn't help but smile at the bald-faced lie and the ice-cool way Abbey had delivered it.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Ziegler. Please, let me show you Mr. Ziegler's room."

He wasn't in the emergency room or even I.C.U., just in a regular hospital room with one bed, an I.V. stand leaking something clear into his arm, and a heart monitor. His eyes were dark and a little cloudy from medication, and his smile was a little goofy. "Hey. You came all this way?"

"All what way?" she asked, dragging a chair to the side of the bed and holding the hand that didn't have the needle in it.

"To New Hampshire."

"You're not in...you're in New York, Toby. Helicopter, remember?"

"Yeah. I do." He cleared his throat, and his eyes became a little more focused. "I threw up. Twice."

"So I hear." C.J. kissed his hand, kissed each precious finger, turned the hand over and kissed the palm, then pressed it to her face and held it there. "How do you feel?"

"Like someone dropped an anvil on my chest." He looked around the room. "I thought Jed was here."

"He's in the waiting room with Abbey. They said he had to leave - family only."

"How'd you get in?"

She felt the blush spreading across her cheeks. "Abbey, uh, pulled some strings. Actually, she lied, and if anyone asks, we're married."

Toby didn't seem to mind that. He looked at C.J., then up at the ceiling. "Did we get married on the helicopter? 'Cause Josh got married on that battleship, and look what happened to him."

Laughter was a sweet release after all the fear and crying. C.J. leaned over and kissed his forehead. "Don't worry. What happened with Amy will not be happening with me. My wiring's completely different."

Before Toby could react, the Bartlets came into the room with Toby's chart. "Good news - it's not a heart attack, it's gastroenteritis."

"I have...a stomachache?" Toby said, his eyebrows arching.

"Well, it's a little more than that, but basically that's what you have. Stress, fatigue, whatever, maybe a little bug. But they're just keeping you here to make sure you're hydrated, and to run some more tests, so we'll see about springing you in a couple of days."

"Then we can drive home, right?" Toby asked, looking like an unhappy little boy at the thought of more flying.

"Yes, we'll get a car and go that way. Meanwhile, we've taken a suite at the Plaza, a couple of blocks from your place, C.J.," said Bartlet. "Since we have trouble getting out and about, we'll expect frequent visits. Starting with dinner tonight, once visiting hours are over." The agents are expecting you, and one of them will be waiting by the reception desk."

God, these people had done so much for her, for so long, and she didn't know where to start to convey her thanks. She looked up at them, hoping to convey by her expression the words that failed her.

"I love you, C.J.," said Bartlet. "Don't ever forget that."

"I won't," she whispered. "Good night."

Abbey came over, smoothed her hair back from her forehead, and kissed her. "Don't stay too late - you both need some rest."

C.J. didn't hear them leave, she was so wrapped up with looking into Toby's dark eyes. He smiled at her just as his eyelids began to flutter shut, and she felt his breathing getting deeper. Just as she thought he was falling asleep, she heard him say something.

"What was that?" she asked, leaning over him.

"I said, since we didn't get married in the helicopter, how about we do it in the car on the way home?"

"Go to sleep, Toby," she whispered. She put her arms on the bed rail and laid her head down on them.

"I mean it, C.J."

"You're asleep, Toby."

"I'm awake enough to know that I never want them to keep us apart again." He opened his eyes, and C.J. could see the spark in them that meant he was thinking at full throttle. "We got lucky this time, and it was nothing. What if someday, God forbid, something bad happened to one of us? We're getting to the age where that's more than likely. The only reason we're here, together, right now, is that Abbey pulled strings and, well, lied. What if she's not there when we need each other?"

"Toby, I live in New York. You live in New Hampshire. Apart from the 'New,' there's not a lot in common."

"Conjugal visits." He grinned. "We'd kill each other inside of six months if we lived together, C.J., you know that. But...well, consider it."

"In the car, on the way home, tomorrow?"

"Okay, that's pushing it. Say, Labor Day weekend, at the farm? Just us and Abbey and Jed and the local justice of the peace. We don't tell anyone, we don't make a fuss."

The idea appealed to her. She adored Toby, she always had, and their relationship had always been, to put it mildly, unconventional.

And, she thought as she watched Toby drift off to sleep, for real this time, it would certainly give her a way out of that damn "Practical Politics" special as well as provide something to talk about at dinner tonight.


	4. Surest Wisdom, The

October  
Washington, D.C.  
***

Nina walked up to the metal detector that had recently been installed at the musicians' entrance to the Kennedy Center. Behind her, in a long line, were some other musicians of the A.S.O., waiting as their cases were searched.

The Secret Service agents flashed their badges at the detector operator, who allowed Nina to pass through, carrying her case and a small, black folder that contained her music. As she paused on the other side to get a copy of the week's schedule, she witnessed the disturbing comments of the other musicians.

"She doesn't get searched?" Sean, one of the violinists, pointed at Nina and glared.

"She's their protectee," replied the man standing guard over the x-ray machine. "She gets special treatment."

The principal oboist's case was being searched, and she was the next to speak up. "They took my damn reed knife last week. As if I'd bother cutting her spoiled brat throat and dulling the blade."

"That kind of talk can get you arrested," warned Sean.

"Guys, come on." Maggie, attempting to be the voice of reason, waved her hands at her angry colleagues. "It's not as if Nina asked for this to happen."

"For real," agreed Daniel, who watched, sighing, as his trombone was disassembled. "I mean, this is a serious pain in the ass, but if someone were trying to kill me, I'd expect my fellow artists to cut me some slack."

Nina walked away from the buzzing group and went past the instrument storage area. The lockers had been replaced with cages that looked like kennels. Locks were only allowed if the guards had keys, and the lockers were routinely searched up to four times a day.

Being let into the rehearsal hall before everyone else left Nina with little time to socialize. She uncased in silence and walked slowly to her seat. Warming up with a slow, romantic etude that emphasized the remarkable control she had over her bow, she blocked out the unpleasantness of the journey.

One by one, the other musicians found their way to the stage. One or two stopped to speak to Nina, and Maggie gave her a brief hug as she went into the 'cello section. But by and large, Nina was ignored - at best. At worst, they sneered their contempt for the increasingly disruptive hoops they had to jump through just to get to work.

The concertmaster stood and asked the oboist for his A, and the orchestra tuned just before the guest conductor, the Cliburn gold medalist Vadim Koenen, leapt onto the podium.

"What is the meaning of this? Wasn't your call fifteen minutes ago? Why are you just now getting to rehearsal?" he thundered.

"Security," muttered the associate concertmaster, and some of the other musicians snickered. "Didn't you have to get checked out?"

"I came early enough to keep that from being an issue, and I suggest that, in future, you do the same. Now, let's not delay our friend Mr. Mahler any further."

Sitting up straight in her chair and ignoring the pitying glances her stand partner gave her, Nina tried to direct her attention to the music, the glorious phrases, the rich harmonies. But the joy wasn't there. The spark she knew only in the rapture of music was missing. Her soul wasn't in her playing, although her technique was as fine as always, and in desperation she made herself think of Sam hovering above her as they made love.

It made her a little horny, but it didn't improve her playing.

Neither did the constant, peripheral knowledge that her two agents were flanking the stage - one just behind Maggie's stand of 'cellos, the other between the backs of the first and second violins.

There were guns onstage, their possessors trained to kill, without question, anyone who threatened her. Nina didn't find it comforting in the least.

Dammit, were they at letter G, or six before? She watched her partner's fingers, surreptitiously using the placement to figure out where she was on the page. But when she looked up to get a cue from the conductor, she found him staring down at her with utter derision. "Violas, precision, if you please!" he hissed, but it was to Nina and not the section that his words were addressed, and she felt herself turning scarlet with embarrassment. The sudden rush of blood to her face didn't help her concentration, and she fumbled a few more notes.

The conductor lunged toward her with his baton, and within seconds he was slammed to his stand by the agents.

"Do not threaten Ms. Fisher-Lennox," growled the taller of the two men as he held the conductor's hands behind his back.

Nina had to be impressed, despite her abject humiliation, that the agents had become very adept at keeping her professional and personal names straight.

"I was...gesturing!" the maestro protested, his words garbled by the position of his mouth against the of the stand. His breath left little clouds on the lucite, and the score's well-thumbed pages fluttered around the feet of all the first stand players. "I'm not going to hurt her, although I'll strongly suggest releasing her from her contract!"

Maggie grimaced at Nina, who looked imploringly at the agents. The personnel director rushed from his place in the audience and yelled for an intermission. The orchestra was seventeen minutes into a two-hour rehearsal.

Oh, God.

Under ordinary circumstances, musicians would flee the stage as if pursued once they were told it was time for their break. But today, people stood around to see what would happen next.

One look at the personnel manager's downcast eyes, and Nina knew exactly what would happen next. But all she could think about, as she looked down at her hands and waited for her sentence, was that she would finally be able to grow her fingernails out.

***

She told the story to Sam later that night, when he returned from a campaign stop in West Virginia.

"I'm so sorry," Sam whispered into her ear as she fed Helen some pureed apples. "This isn't fair. It's not right."

"They didn't have any choice, Sam. If you could've seen Paul's face when the guys shoved him into the stand...and the metal detectors, and the x-rays, and the searching, and we can't even lock up our instruments anymore without giving out two copies of the keys. I wouldn't want to work around me, either." Nina handed Helen to Sam and stood up, adjusting her clothes.

"That doesn't mean I have to agree with their decision." He looked at her with the full force of his bright blue eyes. "We could hire a lawyer."

"We're surrounded by lawyers, Sam. I don't think I've met anyone in the last two years who isn't a lawyer. But you don't need the negative publicity, and I don't need the heartache I'd get when I lost." She knew she sounded bitter, shrewish, so she took a deep breath and leaned over to kiss the top of Sam's head. "I'm a bitch when I get fired," she said softly.

"You weren't fired - you were asked to take a leave of absence."

"I just came back from a leave of absence - how long do you think this one will last?" Nina exclaimed, her voice rising enough to startle Helen. The baby cried, squirming in Sam's arms.

Sam put Helen against his chest, rubbing his hand on her back in slow, rhythmic circles. "You knew, going into this, that there'd be issues with security."

"I knew you'd have guys following you around, talking into their sleeves. I didn't know they'd follow me around, too. And, you have to admit, no one could've predicted today. Although, with my 20-20 hindsight, that seemed pretty inevitable."

She had managed to hold back the tears all day, from the moment she heard the music director say that he loved her and hoped she could come back when the "madness" was over. She had not wept in front of Maggie or her other friends in the symphony, had not shed a single tear in the car after handing the keys to one of the agents and asking him to take her home. But when Sam reached for her with one hand, caressing her hair, she finally felt the dam breaking.

"Say the word, and I'll drop out," Sam said, and that was when Nina lost her composure and cried bitterly for all she had lost, and for all that Sam was offering to lose for her sake.

Nina, unable to speak, shook her head. She arched into Sam's caress like a cat, smiling through her tears as he held her with one arm and cradled Helen with the other.

"I think," Sam said quietly, "that you should go to Manchester and talk to Abbey. What do you think?"

Nina thought, as she let herself be comforted, that Abbey might be her only link to sanity.

***  
Manchester  
The next evening  
***

"Welcome to Jed Bartlet's Home for Wayward Staffers!" Bartlet rose from his favorite chair and embraced Nina while grinning at Abbey, who shook her head and sighed with feigned annoyance.

"Come here, sweetie. Don't let him badger you." Abbey took her turn holding on to Nina, sensing her exhaustion and sorrow along with her natural reserve around the former First Couple. "Why didn't you bring Helen? We haven't seen her in ages."

"Sam thought it'd be better if I had some time alone. Donna's staying with them for the weekend. She says she gets all her maternal instincts taken care of by the time the fourth diaper of the day is used up."

"How is...Donna?" Bartlet asked diplomatically.

Nina smiled. "Cautious."

"Can't say as I blame her." Abbey commented. "And Josh?"

"Have either of you heard of something called a 'nervous hoolelia?' Because that's what Sam calls Josh these days."

Bartlet shrugged, reaching for his glasses and putting them on the bridge of his nose. “Sounds like a Seaborn original. Abigail, my precious, have you seen my notes on the second gubernatorial race?"

"I believe you'll find them on the dining room table."

"Then, ladies, if you'll excuse me, I have yet another exciting chapter of my next book to narrate to the unsuspecting dupe who lives in the carriage house. He'll be joining us for dinner, of course, so I'll let you two get caught up." With a lift of his eyebrows that lacked anything approaching subtlety, he left Nina and Abbey alone in the study.

Abbey appraised Nina, taking in the uncharacteristic slouch, the dark circles under her pretty eyes, the way she kept looking at the designs in the well-worn Chinese rug. Sam had tried, in the halting way that affected his speech when talking about his wife or daughter, to convey what Nina was enduring, almost as if he were afraid of opening Abbey's old wounds.

But she was a physician, after all, and she could heal herself as well as Nina.

"I haven't known you as long as the others, of course," Abbey said, pouring tea into thin porcelain cups and offering one to Nina, "so I don't know how you prefer getting into these things, whether you like polite chitchat first or whether you'd rather just plunge into the nitty-gritty."

Holding the cup in both hands and looking down at the bottom as if reading the leaves, Nina said, "Whatever's easiest for you."

"This conversation isn't about me," Abbey said in her best no-nonsense tone. "Well, I suppose you could say it was, but I'll save that part for later on. Why don't you tell me--" The phone rang, and Abbey started to talk over it before it rang a second time. "Jed? Can you get that, please?"

The ringing died down, and Abbey turned her attention to Nina again. "The Secret Service guys weren't very secret, I take it?"

"Not really, no." Nina sighed and inhaled the fragrant steam, then took a tentative sip. "They all but barricaded the Kennedy Center, and people had to leave for work an hour early to get through the security lines I got to skip. You can't blame them for being unhappy about that."

Before Abbey had a chance to say whether or not she agreed with Nina's analysis, the door flew open and her husband stood there, his face drawn into a rigid mask. "I'm sorry. That was C.J. There was a wire report - Amy's friend, her...significant other, or whatever."

Abbey groaned. There were some things her husband just couldn't handle gracefully, she thought, but his next words drove that thread from her mind.

"The husband tracked them down. Naima, Angela, and Amy have been missing for three days."

***  
Washington, D.C.  
***

Someone - Sam thought it might have been Danny Concannon - once said that if Donna and Josh ever got married, they'd have to rent a concert hall for her friends and a phone booth for his.

Josh could be, and often was, the most obstinate son-of-a-bitch on the face of the earth. He lacked Matt's polished manners, lacked Toby's earnest zeal to do justly, lacked C.J.'s ability to command people without belittling them.

But those who knew Josh best of all knew the truth: that, underneath the bragadoccio, his was a noble, loving heart that had been broken enough times to leave it perilously fragile.

Watching Josh sit slumped over the conference table, his hands clasped so tightly together that his fingernails were turning bluish-white, was agonizing for Sam. Knowing that there was nothing he could do but wait until his connections in the State Department called him back made him feel as if he couldn't help his friend.

"Do you think they're dead?" Josh asked for the twentieth time, and for the twentieth time Sam shook his head.

"I think we'd have heard something. The Canadian Embassy is doing everything they can, and there are probably twenty guys from State finding their trail."

Josh didn't seem to have heard. His eyes were fixed on an unknown point, staring at something only Josh could see. "I should've kept in better touch with her. I should've had someone working on whatever Canada uses for restraining orders."

"This is not, in any way, shape, or form, your fault," Sam insisted. He sat down next to Josh, wishing Nina were with them, glad that she wasn't. Donna was spending the evening having "godmother time" with Helen, meaning that she'd taken the baby out for new clothes. There was no way Sam was going to break this news to her while she was out in public. Not news like this. They'd have to wait until she called in.

Matt had better handle that call. Sam didn't think he could possibly do it.

No, he'd do it. He'd do it all, whatever "it" might turn out to be. Because, if he really did manage to become President, he'd probably have to make a worse call than this one.

There was a brass bowl on the table, full of fruit that no one would eat unless all the danishes and doughnuts were gone. Sam could see his reflection, and it startled him how much the conflict and pain in his eyes resembled Bartlet's when he had been compelled to give bad news.

The silence was awful, but the sound of Josh's sharp, harsh breathing was worse. Sam reached out and patted Josh on the back. "It's been a couple of hours. We're having all calls directed to my cell phone. Why don't you go to your office and lie down for a while? I'll get you when I hear something."

To Sam's relief, Josh didn't argue. He rose, rubbing the small of his back, and went through the door that connected his office with Sam's. Just as Sam reached for the phone, it started to ring. "C.J., is that you?"

"Yeah." She sounded breathless. "Listen, is Josh anywhere near a television?"

"I sent him to his office to lie down. CNN's usually on - why?"

"Get him away. We're getting a satellite feed, and it'll be on the air in a few minutes...oh, God, Sam, it's awful..."

Before he had a chance to ask her what was going on, Sam saw a "Special Bulletin" notice on the screen. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

"...that the missing women have been located in Kenya, near the Somalian border."

"They found them!" Sam exclaimed into the phone. "Oh, thank God."

"It's not good...I have to go - there's no one available and I'm going to have to do the story...someone look after Josh, he's gonna--" The phone went dead and Sam set it down, trying to listen carefully to what the announcer was saying.

A grainy Polaroid photo covered the screen, showing a younger Naima with a tall man and a baby that must have been Angela.

"Local authorities confirm that Kenyan national Saul Biru was killed by multiple stab wounds. His ex-wife, Naima Biru, is being held for questioning in his death. Their daughter, now five years old, is in the care of the director of a nearby Peace Corps headquarters."

The photo changed to one of Amy. "American political activist Amy Gardner was critically injured at the Somalian camp where the murder occurred--"

Sam missed the next few sentences because Josh burst through the doors and grabbed the remote from Sam's hands.

"...attempting to stabilize her condition before moving her to a more sophisticated facility. Witnesses at the scene describe Ms. Gardner's wounds as indicative of the first stages of fibulation, also known as the most invasive form of female circumcision. While a common custom in some countries..."

Josh's face drained of all color. Sam rushed over to him, holding fast to his shoulders. "Josh? Frank Torres is probably on a plane right now, and he'll find out what's going on. He's standing by, Josh, he's going to help us."

"I know." His body was shaking under Sam's hands, and he was obviously doing everything in his power to keep from losing control. "God. Amy."

"I'm so sorry." Sam was grateful that Ginger knew to come in and grab bottles of water from the little fridge. She handed one to Josh, who took it without looking at it. His attention was focused on the television, where someone from Amnesty International was describing the different levels at which the ritual was performed.

"Shut it down, Ginger," Sam muttered, and Ginger went to the set and pressed the power button. The horrific description stopped, the pixelated video winking obscenely as the light went out.

The sudden stillness made the sound of Josh's harsh breathing even more heart-wrenching. "Should I be doing anything?" he asked. "Shouldn't there be...something?"

Ginger's eyes filled with tears. "I'll get the latest from State, then I'll come right back." The look she gave Sam was one of pure compassion, and he patted her on the arm as she walked away.

Josh scrabbled around on the desk for the remote. "I need to hear this, Sam," he said as Sam shook his head in protest. He flipped channels until he was on NBC. "I need to hear it from C.J."

They both did. Sam hovered behind Josh as C.J.'s face appeared on the screen. "Two reporters from Agence France were present when Naima Biru was taken into custody, and their report is as follows." C.J. adjusted her glasses, scanning the text before reading aloud.

"Three days ago, Saul Biru, the father of American-born Angela Biru, kidnapped her from her home in Saskatchewan with the intent of having her undergo the ritual of fibulation. Naima Biru and Amy Gardner flew to Kenya and contacted the anti-mutilation organization Maendeleo Ya Wanawake, giving the location of the Kikuyu village where Mr. and Mrs. Biru were born and where they suspected the girl had been taken. Ms. Gardner was the first to discover the building where the mutilation was to take place, where she was held at knifepoint by Mr. Biru. He demanded that his daughter be circumcised, and said that in addition Ms. Gardner should also undergo the procedure as penalty for her interference. The midwife refused until Mr. Biru threatened to kill her as well as Ms. Gardner."

Sam fought down a surge of bile. He couldn't imagine what Josh was feeling, didn't dare allow himself to travel down that dark path.

"Ms. Biru, with the help of Maendeleo Ya Wanawake, found the midwife's house and demanded that her daughter and Ms. Gardner be set free. Mr. Biru held his knife to his daughter's throat, but the women managed to get the weapon away from him. As Mr. Biru began to strangle his daughter, claiming that he would rather see her dead than left intact, Ms. Biru took the knife from the floor stabbed her ex-husband three times in the chest."

"Shit," mumbled Josh. "Oh, shit."

C.J.'s face was drawn as she continued. "The midwife, with the help of local interpreters, explained that it was the daughter who was to have been...operated on first. But Ms. Gardner insisted that she go before her, hoping that Ms. Biru or members of Maendeleo Ya Wanawake would be able to rescue them before the little girl could be injured." She looked into the camera as if trying to connect with Josh. "Witnesses say that Ms. Gardner's courageous act surely saved Angela Biru from a lifetime of agony."

"Local authorities plan to release Ms. Biru on the grounds that she was acting in defense of her daughter. Ms. Gardner's condition is listed as critical, citing massive blood loss, shock, and incipient infection from the use of crude, unsterilized instruments. When her condition is stabilized, she will be flown to London for further evaluation." C.J. swallowed, the tension in her voice as terrifying as the news itself. "The prayers of the entire nation are with the Naima and Angela Biru, Amy Gardner, and their family and friends. More information will doubtless be available before the evening news, and we will provide up-to-the-minute coverage on MSNBC."

C.J. was replaced by a graphic of the words "Special Report," and an anonymous voice saying that regular programming would now resume.

"I need to know more," Josh said softly.

"C.J. will call as soon as she can get away." Sam stepped back and tried to evaluate Josh's emotional state, but his own emotions were running too high. Poor Amy, and poor Josh, and poor C.J., having to read news like that about someone she knew.

C.J.'s call came moments later, and Sam put it on the speaker so Josh could participate as well. "He saw the news," Sam said, to preempt any questions C.J. might have. "We watched your update. What else do you have?"

"It's pretty sketchy. They'll be reuniting Naima with Angela any minute now."

"What about Amy?" Josh asked, looking at the phone as if C.J. were standing right there.

"They can't move her at this point. Last I heard was that it'd be a few days before she could be taken anywhere else, and it'll probably be London. She hasn't regained consciousness, but the doctors were able to stop the hemorrhaging. I've got two medical reporters standing by with Abbey's fax number - she'll be able to explain this to you much better than I could. Josh, I'm so sorry. I wish I could do something."

"You're doing so much," Josh whispered, so softly that Sam wondered if his words could be heard in New York. "Thank you, C.J."

The uncharacteristic calm was shock, Sam realized. "I'm taking Josh home with me."

"Good idea," C.J. said. "Tell Nina--"

"Nina's with the Bartlets. Donna's at our house, helping out with Helen." Someone surely had contacted Donna by now. Please.

"I'll get off the phone so you can talk to her. Guys, I...I don't know what to say. Wait, my cell's going off, too. It's Abbey. I'll have her call you at home, later, okay?"

She hung up without waiting for an answer - even after all this time, Abbey Bartlet's calls took priority. Sam grabbed Josh's coat.

"You don't have to babysit me," Josh said. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure you are. Let's get out of here before the huddled masses come by, wanting more information than we're ready to give out." He waited for Josh to move, or at least speak. "Donna will be scared to death if you're by yourself. Let's go home."

Josh nodded, following Sam wordlessly to his car, not speaking during the drive, just staring blankly at the dark purple sky with its silvered confetti of stars. When Donna ran out of the house and threw her arms around Josh, holding him tightly and telling him she'd seen C.J.'s report but that everything was going to be all right, Sam found that Nina's absence was a palpable ache. He left Donna and Josh sitting together, holding hands as they sifted through various accounts on the television and discussed whether Josh should go to Africa or wait until Amy was transferred to London, while he went to check on his daughter.

Helen was half-asleep in her crib, her soft, black eyelashes fluttering. Sam picked her up gently, careful not to startle her, and held her close to his chest as he thought about Angela Biru. How could someone do such a thing to a woman? How could a father do such a thing to his child?

With his free hand he dialed the number in Manchester, and it was a relief to hear Abbey call Nina to the phone. "Sam, oh, God, Sam, this is just awful...is Josh all right? No, wait, that's a stupid question, but you know what I mean, right?"

"I know." He took a deep breath, calming himself. "Josh is in the study with Donna, checking for updates. He's horrified, of course - we all are - but he's in good hands."

"Thank God. Where's my baby?"

"I'm holding her right here." He listened as Nina began to sob quietly. "She's safe, Nina. I have her, and I'm not letting go. When are you coming home?"

"Tomorrow morning, first thing. I love you so much, Sam."

"I love you, too."

He returned both telephone and baby to their respective cradles, then spent several minutes at the dining room window, looking out at the velvet night and listening to Donna's voice soothing Josh, soothing them both.

***  
Manchester  
***

"I know this is the last thing in the world you want to think about right now," Abbey said as she came into the guest bedroom and sat down next to Nina, "but we have so little time."

"What's the latest news?" Nina asked. She had been too upset to remain in the room while Abbey and Toby debated the former President about the need for international women's rights groups to call for the abolition of female genital mutilation.

"Nothing, yet, except that Naima and Angela are at the Peace Corps headquarters, and they'll let her stay there until Amy can be moved. I'm still waiting on news from the medical team, but we have to take the time difference and lack of modern conveniences into account."

Nina felt a hot tear work its way down her cheek, and she wiped it away with her fingertips. "I wish I could be there. Sam sounded...lost."

"Sam Seaborn may be many things," Abbey said firmly, "but 'lost' isn't one of them. You know as well as I do that the faraway look, the hesitant voice, are just signs that he's thinking."

"I know, and I know that he and Donna are the best people to be with Josh tonight. But I miss him, and Helen." She was still a little in awe of Abbey, despite the loving friendship the two women were forging, and she had trouble looking into Abbey's eyes. "It's at times like this that I realize that they're the most important things in my life."

Abbey nodded. "I have definitely walked a mile in your shoes, Nina. And I know you have questions. I'd like for you to ask them."

"I don't want to overstep--"

"Please." Abbey put her hand over her heart and laughed. "There aren't boundaries here. Just two women with difficult choices to make."

Nina felt the words spilling out of her as if they came directly from her heart. "How could you bear it? All those years of medical school, the study, the internship and residency and practice, gone, just like that."

"They weren't gone. Just...set aside. I'd done it before, each time I got pregnant. This was just a longer intermission." She took Nina's hand and turned it over in hers, running her nails over Nina's calloused fingertips. "Feel that?"

"I'm...aware of it. Pressure, I guess."

"Do you remember having tender little fingers that felt everything? Do you remember what that was like, before all the hours of practicing, before the scales and etudes and sonatas and concertos?"

Blinking rapidly, Nina glanced from her left hand up to Abbey's astute, gentle face. "I've been playing since I was nine. Twenty-five years."

"I've been a doctor longer than that. And as much as I missed it, those years during the campaign and when I was censured, it never really left me. Just as all the work you've done will never leave you."

Tears came again, bitter ones that Nina let fall unchecked. "I spent my childhood, my youth, on my music, all so I could have the work I loved, playing in a major orchestra. If I leave it now, I can't ever go back. The campaign is one year. If Sam wins, that's four more, and if he gets a second term that's another four."

"Sam could lose, you know," Abbey commented, which made Nina laugh for just a few seconds. "Seriously, though, I do understand what you're saying. But you'll be able to stay connected to your world far, far better than I did to mine. There are youth orchestras and school music programs that you could save, and chamber music in the White House, and ways for your music to be a part of your life that I'm not clever enough to think of. But tell me this - even if Sam weren't a politician, wouldn't you find that the center of your life is different now than it was just a few years ago, when music was your greatest love?"

"I love Helen and Sam more than anything!" Nina declared, revealing her emotion with the passion she displayed in her voice. "I'd lay down my life for them."

Abbey cupped her cheek, nodding. "I never doubted that about you. Sometimes, it's the gentlest people who have the most courage. You're a lot like Sam in that way, you know. When I first met him, I liked him. I felt comfortable around him. I loved his writing, and the way he could calm everyone just by the power of his words. It wasn't until the shooting that I understood that a lion's heart beat under the monogrammed shirts and immaculate suits."

She'd never heard a better description of her husband. "Sam spent his day calling in favors to everyone he's ever met who might have been able to help with Amy. He kept Josh from doing anything rash. And right now, I know he's helping Donna take care of Josh, while making sure Helen's safe in her bed."

"Exactly." Abbey brought Nina's head to her shoulder, stroking her hair. "And tomorrow he'll help the whole country deal with the outrage. I'd be surprised if he wasn't sitting at his laptop right now, sleeves rolled up, straightening his glasses as he worked on ensuring that the legislation introduced in 1993, banning female genital mutilation, is finally passed into law."

"It's not against the law in America?" Nina asked, outraged.

"Not yet. But it will be, sooner rather than later, because Sam's heart, his conscience, his soul, won't allow him to stand idly by while even one more person is hurt. He's a great man, Nina. The things he could do, if he were elected...all the things this country needs so badly, the things Jed couldn't accomplish because we were mired in partisanship and multiple sclerosis, are things that are in the palm of your husband's hands."

"And here I'm whining because I won't get to play the viola where I want to," Nina sighed, burying her face in Abbey's shoulder, "when you had to give up medicine for so long."

"Listen to me," Abbey said as she rested her cheek in Nina's curly hair. "Never disparage your career just because you think it's less 'important' than Sam's, or mine, for that matter. You and I both practice healing arts, Nina, and we both devoted our lives to them. We are also equally devoted to our families. It's a difficult line to walk, I won't kid you, but at some point you're going to have to make a decision."

That was why Nina had come, to make the decision. "Give me the bullet points," she whispered, making Abbey laugh.

"It all comes down to this: you want to make the best world for Helen, and whatever other children you and Sam may bring into the world. What do you think would be the best contribution you could make?"

She knew, and she was proud even though she was afraid, and she sat up straight in an unconscious imitation of Abbey's regal posture as she answered.

"Seaborn for America."


	5. Surest Wisdom, The

Manchester  
December  
***

They hadn't gotten married over Labor Day weekend, after all.

First, C.J. decided that the "Practical Politics" special was something she could not abandon. Besides, September was the month the President's book was due at the publishing house, leaving Toby in a state of such heightened anxiety that he couldn't even stand to be around himself. In October came the horror of Amy's situation, when C.J. had been so busy that she'd slept at the studio because it saved time. November was just a crummy time to do anything. Why? Because, well, it was cold and the leaves were gone and the pictures would suck.

Or so they said to one another, over and over again. Next month it'll be better.

"I'm not getting any younger," Bartlet had hinted over a glass of wine the Sunday after Thanksgiving. "And neither are you," he added, glaring at Toby, "although, C.J., you're holding up pretty well. But tell me - what the hell's the next delay going to be about?"

And there, over the remains of turkey and pumpkin pie, Toby had stammered that he didn't have anything pressing to do the following weekend, so if C.J. felt like it, perhaps they could get married.

In spite of Toby's singularly unromantic gesture, C.J. returned to the farm the next weekend ready to marry him.

They were true to their word in that they didn't tell anyone, even though Donna had pretty much divined the situation in that weirdly telepathic way of hers. The men, fortunately, were clueless. NBC had released C.J. for a week, provided that her "vacation" include an interview with the former President about his book.

"In This White House" was a wealth of facts, of course, and contained stories of both charm and pathos. Toby had done a wonderful job of reining in Bartlet's over-exuberant prose without washing it clean of the man's exquisite intelligence and charm. The result was a powerful memoir that hit best-seller lists all over the world.

And, since Bartlet had written at least six pages about each of the members of his senior staff, the Schiller camp cried that it amounted to free publicity for the amazingly popular Democratic Presidential hopeful, Sam Seaborn.

"They can stick that up their asses," were the last words C.J. heard from Bartlet before Abbey spirited her to the master bedroom for one last makeup check.

"Be sure and say that in the interview," C.J. called back to him.

"Would you stop with the book, already?" Abbey groaned. "You're getting this weird little line on the left side of your nose."

"I'm 49 years old, Abbey. That's not exactly the only line." Nonetheless, C.J. tried to relax her tense facial muscles. She fluffed up her hair, scowling at her reflection in the mirror. "This is crazy."

Abbey cocked her head to one side. "What's crazy? That you're marrying Toby, or that it took twenty-five years?"

"Can I take the Fifth on that? And what is up with my hair?"

"There is nothing wrong with your hair. It's beautiful. You're beautiful."

"I'm old, Abbey. I'm old and scrawny and the only blushing I'm going to do today is out of embarrassment that I'm almost fifty and I'm having, you know, a wedding."

"You, Toby, Jed, me, and a justice of the peace isn't much of a wedding. You wouldn't even let me order a cake, for crying out loud!"

C.J. shrugged. "Toby likes pie."

"No one has a wedding pie. Even Zoey wouldn't have a wedding pie. I mean, I can understand you not wearing white - I certainly wouldn't be able to keep a straight face, and you know damn well Jed would make a comment. I understand that you can't wear obvious wedding rings. I even get it that you aren't telling anyone unless there's a dire emergency, and I'm pretty sure we've hit our quota on that for a year or so. But no one has a wedding pie!"

They looked at one another in the mirror and burst out laughing. "Feel good to get that out of your system?" C.J. asked, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

"Yes," Abbey said, her irascible tone muted by the stifled chuckle. "It's just that I have fewer and fewer of these to look forward to, and I've always enjoyed mothering brides."

Alarmed, C.J. turned around to look directly at Abbey. "Please, by all things holy, tell me that you're not going to sit me down for the 'birds and the bees' conversation."

Abbey seemed to take a great deal of interest in the ceiling. "Well, if memory serves, I certainly won't have to tell you to lie back and think of England."

C.J.'s indignant cry was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Ladies, are you decent?" Bartlet inquired sweetly.

"Yes, Jed," answered his wife.

"Well, hell, then. I'll go away for a while and wait for better things." He opened the door and peered inside. "I heard raucous laughter. Is there booze in the room? And if not, how can I get some?"

"Toby's not opening a bottle, then?" Abbey asked as she slipped her arm around her husband's waist.

"Hasn't touched a drop. I'm beginning to worry about him." Bartlet inspected C.J.'s raw silk suit, a rich cream color that made her skin look luminous. "You look lovely, Claudia Jean."

"Thank you - I appreciate that. How's Toby doing?" C.J. asked.

"Last time I saw him, about ten minutes ago, he was marching in concentric circles around the study, mumbling something under his breath. He's either practicing his vows or trying to perform some sort of incantation."

They heard the old grandfather clock chime the hour. C.J.'s heartbeat quickened as she allowed Bartlet the courtly gesture of taking her arm to walk her downstairs.

She was marrying Toby Ziegler.

Holy shit.

They were to exchange their vows in the study. In the home of the former President and First Lady. With the former President and First Lady standing up for them.

Holy shit.

Bartlet patted her arm. She tried to smile but she wasn't sure which muscles to use. If anyone took pictures, she'd look like the Artist's Composite Picture of the Criminal. A mental image flashed of her photo next to Toby's on the post office wall. From there her mind skittered to what her friends would do when they found out, which was inevitable. Sure, she'd sworn Gary Tennenberg to secrecy about the handmade suit, but he lived with Matt and was friends with Donna, who'd made a few offhand remarks...

Holy shit.

Wait, wait, Bartlet was saying something, opening a box and handing her a perfect nosegay of pure white rosebuds. "I know you said no, but I couldn't bear the thought of you without fresh flowers in your hands. Will you allow me this one indulgence?"

She bit her lip, trying to blink back tears, as she took the flowers in her hand. She leaned against him for a moment, missing her father so very much, wishing her mother could have seen her baby girl on the President's arm.

Abbey opened the door, and C.J. saw Toby standing next to the justice of the peace. The one who was going to marry them.

She really needed to stop saying holy shit to herself, she decided.

Toby was, she decided, utterly adorable in his sober black suit. He beamed at her, his dimples deepening with every step she took toward him, and he put his hand over his heart for a moment before reaching for her.

Bartlet gave her a kiss on the cheek and went to stand beside Toby as Abbey took her place next to C.J. Showtime.

Holy...no. Focus.

"Dearly beloved," intoned the justice in her melodious North Carolina accent, and C.J. couldn't help but smile when Ainsley winked at her, "we are gathered here today, in the sight of God and in the face of this company, to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."

C.J. noticed that Toby was wearing his prayer shawl. How could she have missed that? And could he see the delicate gold crucifix she wore at her throat?

God must be getting an eyeful. Oh, wait, you're getting married. Pay attention.

"...let him speak now, or forever hold his peace."

Toby glanced nervously at the door, then even more nervously at his best man, who widened his eyes and made a "who, me?" gesture at his own chest.

"Then please join hands and repeat after me."

C.J. almost dropped the bouquet as she handed it to Abbey.

"I, Toby Zachary Ziegler, take you, Claudia Jean Cregg..."

"I, Toby Zachary Ziegler, take you, Claudia Jean Cregg..."

He was taking her as his lawfully wedded wife. From this day forward, to have and to hold, for better or worse, richer or poorer...

"...to love, honor, and obey..."

"...to love..." Toby paused and scowled at Ainsley, who shrugged.

"I had to give it a shot. To love, honor, and cherish until death do us part," she amended.

"To love, honor and cherish until death do us part," Toby vowed, looking straight into C.J.'s soul.

He had such beautiful eyes. She could get lost in them.

She didn't even hear her own voice reciting the vows - she made sure Ainsley didn't try to slip "obey" anywhere into the proceedings, however - and only scarcely felt the antique ruby ring Toby slipped onto her finger. But her hands trembled when she gave him a plain gold band and didn't stop trembling until she heard Ainsley tell Toby to kiss the bride.

He did. Oh. Oh, how he did.

Then there was Abbey embracing her, and Bartlet, and Ainsley throwing her arms around her, and nearly lifting her off the floor. "You're sure I can't tell anyone?"

"Yes!" Toby and C.J. said together.

"And now," Abbey said, gesturing heavenward, "it's time for champagne and...pie."

***

C.J. and Toby didn't emerge from the carriage house for two entire days.

***  
Two days later  
***

The study was festooned with lights, brightening every corner of the room but focused mostly on the two leather chairs where C.J. would interview Bartlet about his book. While they waited for Andrew to call them in, they sat across from one another in the kitchen, submitting to makeup, and Bartlet appraised her with a smirk. "You look good, C.J."

"Why, thank you," she replied with exaggerated politeness. So help her, God, if he tried anything while they were live on the air...well, the Secret Service be damned. She'd had a good two days - and a remarkable two nights - and she'd take her chances.

"We have cranberry juice in the fridge." The crew treated the former President's words as if they were a non-sequitur, ignoring them. C.J. hoped they also ignored her, or at least the flush she felt creeping up into her cheeks.

"I'm fine, thank you, sir," she said, emphasizing the forbidden "sir."

He was well-rested, feisty, and had something to hold over her head. It was going to be a long evening.

They took their places in the chairs, and Andrew's assistant gave C.J. a copy of "In This White House." She had one of her own, of course, signed with what Donna had called, cryptically, "the second-most-beautiful inscription in the history of the printed word." But it would be unseemly to flaunt this man's regard, so she had asked for a copy that hadn't been so well-read. So wept over.

Andrew signaled the last three seconds before they went live. "Good evening, and welcome to this special edition of 'Practical Politics.' I'm actually a guest of tonight's guest - this is being broadcast from the home of former President Josiah Bartlet."

"Thank you for visiting, C.J.," Bartlet said. "And thank you for agreeing to come all the way out here just for this interview."

Oh, great.

"It's my pleasure. I have here a copy of 'In This White House,' your memoirs about the years 1998-2006."

"Have you read it?" Bartlet asked, his eyes twinkling.

She nudged his foot. "From cover to cover, Mr. President, and I'm delighted that you didn't choose any photos of me from when I had a perm."

"Well, I knew that someday we'd be having this little talk, and I wanted to avoid being taken down on national television." He turned more serious. "I have always felt a deep and abiding love for this country. It was an honor to serve as its leader. But the real reason I wrote this book - with the immensely valuable assistance of Toby Ziegler - was that I wanted to write a love letter to everyone who served with me in the White House."

They spent a few minutes holding up pictures: Leo holding Ellie's hand as the President was sworn in, the Bartlet daughters and their mother in the Mural Room, decked out in their inaugural finery. Josh standing on the portico, excitedly pointing out something to Donna and Margaret. C.J. pointing to a reporter from the podium. Sam in his office - so young, God, had he really been that young? - with Toby standing at his shoulder, gesturing at whatever Sam had written.

"And, speaking of Sam Seaborn - are you aware that President Schiller's staff has filed a complaint with the F.E.C., claiming that your descriptions of him in the book are glossy political ads?"

Over to you, Mr. President.

Bartlet looked at his camera, slightly to the left of the lens. "I'm glad you mentioned that, C.J. Sam Seaborn, from his first day in Nashua to the day he almost had to glue his resignation to Leo's desk because we didn't want to accept it, was a valued member of the team. The power of his prose was only the tip of the iceberg, just the merest hint of the idealism, wisdom, and quiet courage that we would all come to know and admire. There wasn't anyone, from heads of state to someone who accidentally bumped into Sam during a White House tour, who didn't understand within ten seconds that they were in the presence of greatness."

He paused, leaning forward in the chair with his hands clasped together. "I make no apologies for how I feel about him. He is a trusted advisor, a gracious friend, and one of the great minds of his generation. What it boils down to is this: I respect and love Senator Samuel Seaborn of California, and anyone who has a problem with it can kiss my ass."

Commercial.


End file.
